


Hot

by Shaddyr



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: trope_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaddyr/pseuds/Shaddyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for Trope Bingo square:vacation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to outsideth3box for the quick beta. You're a gem!

It was hot.

Not just your average, everyday kind of hot, either. No, this was a scorching, suck-the-moisture-from-your-bones-as-you-die, pit of hell kind of motherfucking hot. John knew it was at least 110 F because he could feel the sweat beading up on his scalp, but it evaporated before it could trickle down his face. Then again, he reflected as he took a long pull on his Corona, it was Mexico in July. Unless there was some idiot scientist building a space/time bridge to siphon the heat away, it would be hot for the foreseeable future.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, but it didn't help much. Draining his beer, he let out a quiet belch and set the bottle back on the table with a satisfied thud. He considered the dirty white and green stucco walls, the slant of the sunlight pouring through the window and was grateful it would be dusk soon (and cooler then, thank god). More sweat beaded up at his hairline and he decided he really needed another beer.

"What part of NO LIME is hard to understand?"

John rolled his eyes behind his aviators. "It's not even on the table anymore, Rodney. Let it go already." He snagged the last Corona from the formerly ice-filled bucket and held it against his forehead for a moment. Ahhh, bliss. He took a swig, then looked over at Rodney who was just finishing off the last of his bottle. "You want more beer?"

Rodney gave him a look. "Do we need more?"

John pointed at him with the tip of his beer bottle. "Would you rather go surfing?"

Rodney turned to wave at the bartender. "Más cerveza, por favor!"

The bartender set a metal bucket with four bottles of Corona in it on the bar and filled it with ice. Rodney jumped up when he saw the bartender snag a lime from a bowl on the counter, obviously planning to slice it up and shove a piece in each of the bottles.

"Oh crap, not again!" he muttered as he stomped over to the bar. "No, no, no... ahh, no lime por favor! Alérgico! Dammit! We already went through this!" He pointed at the offending citrus. "No!" then he pointed at the beer. "Yes! Si! Oh my god, NO! Don't shove the lime in the bottles, are you completely stupid? "

John watched the interaction with some amusement. He got the impression that the bartender knew more English than he was letting on. He heard a couple of the locals laughing about the estúpido gringo and figured that playing dumb with the tourists was probably something of a local tradition.

Finally Rodney threw several 20 pesos notes on the bar with an insincere 'gracias'. He grabbed the bucket of beer and grumbled all the way back to the table. "Why am I surrounded by idiots at every turn?" he bitched as he dropped into his chair. “I’m starting to think your surfing idea would have been better after all. You could have been out breaking your neck on a surf board while I was in an air-conditioned hotel with room service and 60” flat screen TV." He stared at John for a moment. "How did I let you talk me into coming to Mexico, for god's sake? Even visiting my sister and her spawn would have been better – at least my brain would not be cooking in my skull!” He snagged one of the bottles by the neck and lifted it to his lips, then tilted it back to take a couple of long swallows.

John was casually keeping an eye on the boisterous group of young men over by the bar. He knew the type – young enough to be cocksure, drunk enough to talk each other into doing something stupid, and strong enough to think they can get away with it. From all appearances, they were looking for a little sport, and they had been eyeing Rodney in a way that made John twitchy.

"Think of it as practise for an away mission," he suggested, smirking at Rodney before finishing off the last mouthful of his Corona. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You can practise not acting like an asshole to the locals in a place where we can be reasonably sure they won't come after us with spears when you say something asinine."

"Oh, ha ha," Rodney scoffed. "After the things we've done the last few years, I'm not all that worried about a bar full of drunken farmers," he said, but John caught his surreptitious glance around the room. The guy at the bar caught Rodney's gaze when he looked over and gave him a toothy grin. Rodney rolled his eyes. "Make that drunk and stupid," he said as he went back to his beer.

Even after five years in the Pegasus Galaxy learning that running off at the mouth could result in running for his life, Rodney had not been cured of his tendency to be an asshole to people who he deemed beneath his notice, even if there was a chance that he might end up getting his ass kicked as a result.

John shook his head. He didn't like the odds if things went south, and if Rodney didn't shut up, he was liable to get another lesson in running for his life, with a side order of ass kickage – and John would be obligated to pull said ass out of the fire. He let out a huff of frustration and decided that diffusing the situation was the expedient choice. He rose suddenly, and stepped around the table to grasp Rodney’s arm and pull him to his feet.

“Hey!” Rodney protested as John yanked him across the room. He sloshed beer down the front of his shirt. “Dammit,” he cursed, rubbing ineffectually at it as he stumbled along in Sheppard’s wake. “What the hell, Sheppard?”

He snagged the beer from Rodney’s hand and set it on a table before dragging him out of the bar.

“Hey!” Rodney whined, looking back over his shoulder. “That was my beer!”

John didn’t stop until he’d hauled Rodney down the hallway and out a side door where there was a semi-private covered alcove behind the bar. He suddenly spun around to face him, and gave him a smack upside the head.

“Ow!” Rodney complained, lifting a hand to rub the spot before glaring at Sheppard. “What the hell is your problem?” he demanded.

“Christ, Rodney! Do you purposely act in the most offensive way possible?"

"That moron was going to kill me!" Rodney argued, arms crossed as he scowled at Sheppard. "I'm supposed to smile at him while he sticks POISON in my beer?"

"Well, you came across like a racist prick, so next time, trying explaining *without* acting like everyone you're talking to is a brainless idiot."

"But he *was* a brainless idiot!" Rodney shouted, waving his hands in the air. "I already told him I was allergic! How does his being a moron make me a racist?"

"Rodney! How many off world missions ended with us making a run for it because you couldn't watch you mouth?” he growled, giving the other man a shake. “Those guys at the bar were *this* close to giving you an attitude adjustment with their fists!”

As Rodney spluttered and protested, John watched a bead of sweat trail down his face, past his collar and soak into his shirt. He swallowed, his mouth as dry as the dust blowing outside as his gaze wandered from Rodney’s neckline, across the broad chest to the well-muscled bicep still in his grasp. If asked later, John wouldn’t have been able to explain his actions; all he knew was that he'd Just. Had. Enough of Rodney's bitching and he was overcome with the overwhelming need to make Rodney shut. The hell. Up.

Sheppard slammed Rodney up against the wall, his grip on Rodney’s arm holding him in place as he settled his other hand on the wall beside Rodney’s head. He pinned Rodney to the wall with his body, and felt himself grow hard as Rodney tried to squirm away. Sheppard used his slight height advantage to stare down into Rodney’s face.

“I don’t – what…” Rodney trailed off, and a blush rose on his cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat of the day as he felt Sheppard harden against his thigh. “John?” he squeaked out as he froze in place.

Sheppard could see the rapid pulse fluttering in his throat, felt Rodney’s chest rise and fall quickly as he began to hyperventilate, and he licked his lips once before diving in to kiss the living shit out of him. Rodney let out a muffled whimper against his mouth, his whole body going rigid against Sheppard’s before melting against him and wrapping his arms around John. Sheppard let go of Rodney’s arm and slid his hand up over his shoulder and neck to the back of Rodney’s head, fingers threading through Rodney’s hair to yank his head back. Rodney gasped as Sheppard nipped at the corner of his mouth, trailing kisses down the side of his chin and neck to bite possessively at that sensitive spot where neck met shoulder.

“Oh my god, John,” Rodney stuttered, hands grasping convulsively at his shirt as Sheppard worried the skin between his teeth, then alternated between sucking and biting some more . “Oh, oh fuck, oh Jesus, please, please---!”

Sheppard pulled back and studied the damp skin, pleased with the spectacular bruise already beginning to form. He leaned in and kissed Rodney, hard and demanding, eliciting a gasp as their erections ground together. He kept one hand braced on the wall, leaning in just enough to keep Rodney pinned in place and still have room to trail his other hand over Rodney's chest and down to his waist to undo his belt. He shoved his hand into Rodney's boxers, fingers curling around his hard cock, and Rodney squirmed against him, moaning as John thrust his tongue, fucking his mouth in rhythm to the slow, steady strokes.

Rodney slid one hand down Sheppard's arm from shoulder to hand, his fingers joining John's for several slow pulls before reaching across to slide under John's waistband. John broke off the kiss with a ragged wheeze, and let go of Rodney's cock, using the hand to brace himself against the wall before he fell down, suddenly weak in the knees. The sheer pleasure of Rodney's touch as he undid John's fly and pulled out his cock set him on fire, hot in a way that was completely different than the atmosphere around them.

He grabbed Rodney's wrists and pinned them to the wall as he ground up against him, skin on skin, their cocks trapped between them. He wanted Rodney, all of him – wanted to be in him, to have him up again the wall, right here and now. "Wanna fuck you," he muttered between sucking kisses and nips on Rodney's neck.

"Oh, god," Rodney managed weakly, shivering as John continued his assault.

John pulled and shoved and suddenly Rodney found himself facing the wall, hands on either side of a clock face that had been drawn there. He let out a squeak as John shoved his pants down, and John was suddenly draped over his back, mouth right by his ear. "Can I?" he asked, voice heavy with desire. Before Rodney could answer, John was fisting his cock again, this time with a slick hand. Rodney groaned, grateful for the support the wall offered, since if he tried to stand on his own he would have slid to the ground in a heap.

"Oh fuck, yes, just do it already!" he babbled, then gasped in shock when two slick fingers shoved up inside him, hot and hard, twisting and stretching him, just this side of painful. He was torn between terrified and turned on – he'd traded hand jobs with a few guys in the past, but this was, quite literally, virgin territory. But this was John – John, who he'd never thought in a million years he could ever have, John whom he had lusted after from afar, and he found himself pushing back on John's fingers almost as hard as John was shoving them up into him, and god, it was starting to feel good, *really* good, something tingling up his spine and sparks shooting down to his toes. Just when it was changing from good to fucking awesome, John's fingers were gone, and Rodney made a sound that certainly was not a whine.

John was so turned on he could barely see straight. All his worries that Rodney might not be okay with this were gone – he'd gone from being nervous and twitchy to downright demanding, babbling about how good it felt and why was he stopping, and John couldn't wait another second. He barely had time to slide on the condom and slick himself up before he was pushing in. He could feel that Rodney was still too tight, so with what little sanity he had left, he forced himself to keep still, and oh god, there should be a medal for self-control during extremely hot sex because he deserved one, goddammit, because NO ONE should have to stop during something that felt this good.

He was panting, one hand tightly gripping Rodney's shoulder, the other on the wall just above Rodney's, keeping his mind focused on calculating Pi and NOT shoving his cock so far up Rodney's ass he could taste it in the back of his throat. He could feel Rodney slowly relax under him, and as the overwhelming desire to fuck him right into the wall receded, Rodney's constant stream-of-consciousness babble resolved into words John could understand. "Fuck, John, Fuck, oh, don't move, hurts, don't stop, I want it just.. oh, Jesus, fuck, oh, OH! There! That, oh my god, don't stop, fuck me already!"

Those were orders with which John was more than happy to comply. He started with a few small thrusts, but Rodney shoved back, taking him in fully and that was the end of any plan to go slow. John fucked him smooth and steady, hard but not brutal, bringing his hand down from Rodney's shoulder to stroke his cock in time. It wasn't long before he felt his orgasm gathering like a thunderstorm, and the way Rodney was shaking; he was right on the edge. He gave a little twist to the head of Rodney's cock on the up-thrust as he drove home with one final shove, biting down hard on Rodney's shoulder as he came. He felt Rodney shudder, pulsing in his hand, slumping against the wall as his arms finally gave out.

There was a noise behind them. John glanced back and caught a movement, heard a whisper and footsteps moving away. Moments later, raucous laughter floated down the hall from the bar. From what he remembered of his high school Spanish, it sounded like the bartender was telling everyone that the little gringo bastard was getting... something. Probably not complementary. John was really glad that he didn't remember enough to understand all the words or he might have had to take offence to them and the tone of voice.

At the moment, he was kind of distracted by Rodney writhing against him, and how good it felt to be pressed up to his muscled back. He was looking forward to getting him back to the hotel and doing it all again, this time in a bed. The evening promised to be sizzling hot, in a very pleasant way. It was shaping up to be the best vacation ever.


End file.
